The Woman That Deliberates Is Lost.

Method Is Not Less Requisite In Ordinary Conversation Than In Writing, Provided A Man Would Talk To Make Himself Understood.

Love, Anger, Pride And Avarice All Visibly Move In Those Little Orbs.

Love Is A Second Life.

A Reader Seldom Peruses A Book With Pleasure Until He Knows Whether The Writer Of It Be A Black Man Or A Fair Man, Of A Mild Or Choleric Disposition, Married Or A Bachelor.

It Is Very Wonderful To See Persons Of The Best Sense Passing Hours Together In Shuffling And Dividing A Pack Of Cards With No Conversation But What Is Made Up Of A Few Game-phrases, And No Other Ideas But Those Of Black Or Red Spots Arranged Together In Different Figures. Would Not A Man Laugh To Hear Any One Of His Species Complaining That Life Is Short?